


weaning.

by Anonymous



Series: John/David bits & pieces [1]
Category: Deep Cover (1992)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Desperation, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fear, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Massage, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Sadism, Slurs, mild petplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John... He needs to do some work on David. And David? David will take what he's given, whether he knows it or not.





	weaning.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first John/David thing, and God... I'm in love with these two disgusting men. Please HMU if you want ANY of this pairing.

It’s time, John thinks, to wean David off the coke. 

He’s getting erratic again, getting too excitable - after it was all done with, after  _everything_  had calmed down, they’d moved back to work, they’d, uh, gone back to normal (as normal as the coke trade is) but…  _running_  things. Christ, that’s– It’s a big jump up. And it’s not that it’s hard, not that it’s easy either - cutting up territory, running the littler guys, getting everybody in position, that’s all one thing.

But dealing with David?

He shouldn’t need to deal with David, not  _on top_  of everything else. Shouldn’t haveta keep the guy on a leash at all, let alone a tight one. 

Had to  _drag_  him off some stupid homo in tight jeans just  _yesterday_  because he looked at David wrong, and that– That’s also an issue. It isn’t just the coke that gets David riled up - there’s a  _lot_  of things that get David riled up, and there’s only so much John can deal with that.

It’s raining in LA, the rain coming down in fat, heavy drops even though it’s still warm and humid, and he lets out a short grunt of sound as he steps into the apartment building, moving quickly up the stairs. David’s already waiting for him, having let himself in with the key John’d given him to the apartment - Betty’s taken James out to San Diego for a one-week holiday while school’s out, and…

John’d been surprised. 

Betty isn’t a natural mom, John knows that - from the beginning, John’d said James was his responsibility, that he didn’t expect her to be some kinda housewife or soccer mom, but… She’d  _wanted_  to take the holiday, and she’d  _wanted_  to take James out.

Betty’s a little cold, sure; she’s sharp and biting and James, God, James just thinks she’s the best thing in the world, and  _that_ , John thinks, Betty likes. She likes how James looks at her, like she’s the start and end of everything, hanging on her every word when she talks about artefacts or archaeology, how auctions work, how life works. 

It’s–

It’s amazing, actually. She’s amazing.

David is standing in the kitchen, whistling to himself as he sets two eggs to fry on the oventop, and John is very quiet about closing the door behind him, watching David carefully. David sets two eggs on the plate, and then he cuts  _up_  the buttered toast he’s already made, putting it on the plate. John clears his throat, and David looks up.

“Oh, John,” David says as John pulls off the wet light jacket he’s wearing, not at all waterproof - David’s not coked up right now, John can tell, can tell the different between a manic David and a regular one - and sets it on the rack. He sees David’s relaxed shoulders shift slightly - he sees David’s gaze flit down to John’s wet slacks, which are hugging tight to his body, to his crotch. David’s mouth is slightly open, and John doubts he’s cognizant of the way his tongue flicks out and dashes over his lower lip.  _Yeah_ , that’s the problem here - David’ll fucking snap at some young fag that’s just minding his own business and being gay while he does it, but David–

David isn’t fucking straight. 

And Christ, the way he looks at John kinda pisses John off.

“I made you breakfast,” David says, grinning at him and pushing the plate forward a little, and John’s gaze flits down to the plate, his eyebrows raising slightly. “You keep skipping it, John, it’s, uh– It’s terrible for you.” He tries to keep his tone light and jokey, but John can hear that little lilt of, “please, tell me I’m  _good_.”

“And what are you in this scenario,” John asks dryly, taking a slow step forward, his hands in his pockets. He needs to change his pants, and the soaked shirt clinging to his chest: David looks like he’s holding his breath as he looks at him, and that’s just how he  _looks_  at John sometimes, like John’s the be-all end-all. It’s cute, when James looks at Betty like that - it’s a kid looking at his new mom, who’s distant and a little icy and who he wants approval from. And Betty, she’s… She’s letting him in. But John and David… “My daddy?”

When David looks at John like that, there’s nothing paternal about it. There’s nothing  _platonic_  about it. David looks at John like he’s desperate.

John can’t stand desperation. 

Weaning David off the coke, that’s part of getting rid of it, but this  _gay_  thing–

That’s something else. 

David’s expression falters, and he leans back, his brow furrowing. “Uh– No, no, I just… You gotta eat breakfast, John, you can’t just skip it all the time. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just, uh–”

“You wanna take care of me?” John asks, his voice snide, and he sees the Adam’s apple bob in David’s throat, under the black fabric of his turtleneck. David looks uncertain, shaky on his feet, like he doesn’t know what’s up, but he’s been obsessive about making the eggs - he’d been casual about John’s apartment, at first, had just sprawled around, and now? He’s  _clean_. There’s not a single crumb on the counter from the toast, and John can see he’s already put the frying pan next to the sink, so that he can wash it up. He’s  _reverent_  about John’s space, like he isn’t reverent about anything. God, just imagine if he looked at his  _wife_  like that. 

David stiffens, squaring his shoulders slightly, and he grits his teeth - John can see the slight twitch in his jaw, and he moves to pick up the plate.

“Whatcha doing, David?”

“Throwing the damned eggs out,” David snaps - okay, too far. 

“Put the plate down, David,” John instructs, and the plate sets against the wooden surface with a quiet  _click_. There’s a flush of humiliation in David’s cheeks, and John takes a slow step forward - he doesn’t want to be too much like Barbossa, can’t afford to have David not  _respecting_  him, but– They need to set a few boundaries here. They’re two months into this new arrangement, now, with Barbossa dead behind them, and– “What, that’s just what friends do for each other?”

“You saying we aren’t friends, John?” David asks, his voice a little sharp alongside being faux-wounded.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” John says softly. “I appreciate it.” David relaxes immediately, all the fight going out of him, but then his gaze flits down to John’s wet slacks again, and John sets his jaw. “What was the deal with the homo yesterday?”

“Huh?” David asks, meeting John’s gaze. “What– I don’t… The homo? What, that kid in the tight jeans?”

“You snapped at him pretty hard,” John says mildly. As he speaks, his fingers move to the buttons on his shirt, and he begins to delicately unbutton his shirt, and when David’s mouth drops open, he imagines he can just see the moisture drying off his tongue. “Can’t afford to have you snapping like that.”

He expects David to snap, but instead, the shoulders loosen slightly, and he exhales. Good boy - that’s  _very_  good. “Yeah,” David mutters, dragging his palm over his mouth. “You’re right. I just didn’t like his attitude, and he got a little… I shouldn’t have shoved him like that. The coke doesn’t help.”

“No,” John agrees. The buttons have come apart down to his mid-chest now, and he can see the way David is desperately  _trying_  not to look at John’s chest, at the hair on his skin, thick and dark and curly. “I wanted to talk to you about that, uh… I’d like for you to stay off the coke for a while. Maybe talk about your temper a little.”

“My temper?”

“Your temper. You know you got a temper.” David’s nostrils flare, and he stiffens a little more - he’s  _trying_  to stay relaxed, too, John can see that, and he’s actually proud of the effort he’s putting in to keep himself calm. “See, if I, uh, if I do this,” John says, and he slides the shirt off his shoulders: David exhales so hard a little noise comes out from his throat. “And I point out how you’re looking at me like you want my cock in your mouth–”

David takes a hard step forward, his fists gripping tightly at his sides, and he shows his teeth. His eyes are flitting fast over John’s body, like he’s wondering where to land a punch first, and John chuckles as he puts the wet shirt over the chair. 

“See,” John says mildly. “There it is.” David looks conflicted, his anger popped with a damned pin. 

“I don’t like being called– I’m  _not fucking…_ Every damn time, Felix used to step on that fucking angle, and I don’t– I’m not fucking gay, John, and I don’t appreciate that kind of… It makes me fucking angry!”

“Yeah, I see that,” John says. “You’re fucking angry. Great. We all get angry, David. Most of us don’t slam a twink into a wall and tell him to hold his tongue for telling  _another_  twink that he’s got a great ass. Said fag was fucking grateful, by the way, so he didn’t need you defending his non-existent virtue.” David lets out a sharp noise of irritation. 

“That’s not… I’m not okay with that, that’s fucking– Workplace harassment.”

“We deal coke, David,” John says. “Are you  _scared_  of homos or something?”

“Scared of– No! I’m not scared of them!” He says it too quickly. Snaps it out like he’s scared of just  _saying_  it. God damn. He  _is_  scared. “Your– You should, um, eat your breakfast.”

“Is it a  _romantic_  thing?” John asks, casually. “Cooking me  _breakfast_ ,walking me to my car… You know I’m with Betty, right?” David looks at John with so much terror in his eyes that John almost feels bad, his brown eyes  _shining,_ and John takes another step forward. There’s a level on Barbossa that John has, of course - David never wanted Barbossa to fuck him, as far as John knows.

“I…” David is breathing heavily now, and John– Mmm, he kinda wanna sees where this goes. 

“’Cause, you know, Betty doesn’t  _share_ , and she isn’t stupid. You know, she’s not like  _your_  wife.” David’s nose wrinkles, and in the same moment, his hand shooting to punch John, and John moves in a second: he shoves David hard back against the fridge, his hand on David’s throat, and he looks  _up_  at him - Christ, he’s tall. He can feel the jersey of the turtleneck under his palm, hear David choke.

He’s a handsome guy, from the right angles. They need to do something about his look - John wants to fix the hair, make him look less like a greased-up sewer rat, put him in some slightly tighter suits and make him look a little less sloppy, but– He’s a handsome guy, and he doesn’t look his age. 

John isn’t gay, no, but he isn’t  _opposed_  to men. God knows he’d let a few guys suck his dick back in the academy, let them do it… How much experience does David have with guys, John wonders? Is this fear  _from_  something? 

David tries to knee John in the thigh, and John wrestles him easily - he’s stronger than David, no matter how tall the other guy is, and he slams David down against the table like he’s about to arrest him, grabbing the wet shirt and using it to tie David’s wrists.

“Let me the fuck go–”

“Stay still, David,” John orders, crisply, and he shoves his hand onto the back of David’s head, forcing his cheek against the tabletop: David’s looking right at the plate of eggs and toast, and he’s shuddering in his breaths. 

“Don’t,” David says, desperately. “ _Please_ , John, don’t, don’t, don’t–”

“God, you sound  _terrified_. What do you think I’m gonna do to you, huh? We’re friends, right? You trust me?” John keeps his voice low and gentle, like he’s trying to soothe a panicked horse, and David lets out a noise, but he stops struggling. He remains pinned in his place,  _heaving_  breaths in and throwing them out, and John says, “David… You don’t need to be so scared, okay? Honey?” That does it - David’s shoulders abruptly stiffen, and then he sinks right down against the table, and John doesn’t think he imagines the way David’s thighs part open slightly, leaving a bigger gap between his legs. “It’s okay,” John murmurs, and he shoves up the fabric of David’s turtleneck, under his bound wrists, and he strokes a circle on David’s lower back.

At the skin-to-skin contact, David initially jumps and gasps, but John hushes him softly, and keeps on rubbing, nice and slow and smooth. “You been around homos much, David? You know any in high school, in college?”

“You telling me you’re a homo, John?” David asks, voice a little high. 

“Nah,” John says. “I’m just trying to see where this, uh– You just sound so  _scared_ , David. Seems a little unwarranted.”

“I’m not scared,” David says. John reaches under David, and unbuckles his belt: David nearly  _wails_ , the sound is so fucking desperate, but he’s being very well-behaved - there’s no struggling, just trembling. “John,” David says. “John, don’t, you can’t, I–”

“Shhh,” John soothes, and he hooks his fingers against David’s waistband, dragging his pants and his briefs down slightly. They drag right over David’s ass, and– “Jesus.”

“What?” David asks, panicked. 

“You know what a bubble butt is, David?” John asks sweetly, and David moves to stand up: John slams his head back down, and David  _whimpers_. Shit, John isn’t gay, but that’s a great sound, that’s a  _wonderful_  sound - he’s never heard a woman make a noise like that, and he wants to hear it again. “I’m just saying, David, you’ve got an ass like a peach under here - you and these fucking slacks, God, they hide everything. You should put this on show.” He drags his palm over the rounded curve of David’s ass cheek - John’d expected him to be built like a stick under here, but no, no, David’s ass is pretty generous. Not the biggest ass in the world, no, but it’s  _round_ , and the skin is smooth, with the cutest little freckle on the lefthand side. 

“Don’t,” David says. John slides two fingers between his cheeks, and he finds David’s asshole. David sobs out a noise, struggling to not kick back or wrestle himself free, and John hushes him again: he doesn’t try to dip into the dry hole, and instead, he just massages.

It’s the same as the circles on his lower back - rubbing the fingers just against that tight, tight muscle, and he feels it give way and relax a little, and David? God, David is just  _only_  making noises now. He’s groaning low in his throat and gasping, letting out little whimpers and whines, and John clucks his tongue.

“See, that’s okay, that’s okay. You don’t need to be scared, David, I– I ain’t gonna do anything to you. I’m just touching you a little, see? Feel good?” David chokes on his next breath, and John rubs a little harder: David’s asshole  _clenches_ , the pucker tightening and then loosening again, and John feels David’s balls draw up a little tighter. He’s hard, John guesses. “There you go - God, you’re  _good_. Barbossa, David, he never appreciated you - me? I appreciate you. I want to see you get over this fear issue you’ve got. I want to see you thrive.”

He dips his finger in just slightly, and David  _moans_ : again, John feels the tighten of his sac, and John smiles in satisfaction. He doesn’t shove it in, not properly - he goes back to massaging, and the other hand begins to rub David’s back again. 

“This what you wanted?” John asks softly.

“Don’t fuck me,” David whimpers. “Don’t, I can’t, I don’t–”

“I’m not gonna,” John promises, and he shifts his rhythm, playing his fingers over that tight little hole and just– Fuck, now he  _says_  it, though, John has to wonder just how tight it is on the inside. He’s never fucked somebody in the ass before, but he’s heard it’s pretty great, heard it’s like wet velvet… “I’m not gonna, honey–” David gasps, eagerly, and his thighs spread open, “There you go. I’m not gonna fuck you, David, I don’t want to  _hurt_  you. Feel this, doesn’t that feel good?”

“Ungh,” David sobs, his eyes squeezed shut. John wishes he could see his face properly, see all the changes in that tight expression, but it’s good enough to be able to hear him, to hear those lovely damn noises… “I’m– John, you have to stop, you have to… I can’t…”

“You can,” John whispers, and he presses down  _hard_ , just once: David stiffens, and his hole clenches, and the  _noise_  David makes– Jesus. Jesus Christ. “Did you just… Did you just  _come_?” David shudders.

“I didn’t… I didn’t like, I didn’t mean to– Don’t fuck me, I don’t want to, I can’t–”

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” John says again, and he pulls David’s slacks up. David exhales - a mix of relief and disappointment. God, he’s messed up. But then, so’s John. He undoes the wet shirt keeping David’s wrists tied, and he pulls David up by the back of his sweater, turning him to lean against the table. He reaches out, skimming over David’s crotch, and there’s no wetness, not through his briefs and his slacks, but he feels that oversensitive twitch. “That was good, David,” John murmurs, his voice warm, and he pats David’s hip. “Listen, I, uh, I gotta take a shower, get out of these wet clothes… Would you be a pal?”

“Huh?” David asks: his eyes are wet, his cheeks flushed, his lips  _trembling_. Yeah, he’s, uh, he’s handsome. Like this, vulnerable and a little desperate,  _yeah_ , John likes this. He’s breathing heavy, his breath hitching, and it’s just an  _ego boost_ , to see the guy so– Damn, so  _responsive_. He’s a little out of it, panicky and not yet calming down. John pulls down the hem of the turtleneck, putting it back at David’s hips, and David shudders.

“Would you make me some more eggs?” John asks, softly. “Those are cold.” David stares at him, uncomprehending, his mouth open. A long pause passes between them, and then John prompts, his voice just a little harder, “ _David_?” 

David breathes in heavy, and he looks very small, despite how tall he is. Yeah, that– God. Coming just from  _that_ , just from John’s fingers on his hole, that’s pretty fucking… Yeah, John can see it coming together now. Get David off the coke, that’s a good start - but if John just fucks with him a little, get David more focused on  _John_ , get him over this anger at the gay boys, get him to control himself better in  _general_ … Hell, sex is a good incentive for that. Sex is as good an incentive as any. And John, shit, he sure would like to see David confronted with  _real_  sex, if this is how he responds to a palm on his hole. 

“Okay,” David says, shakily. “John. I can.”

“Good boy,” John murmurs, touching David’s chin, and David  _leans into_  it, Christ, like he’s some kinda  _dog_. 

That’s kinda hot, actually. Like he said, John is kinda messed up too. 

“Toast too,” John says.

“Okay.” He’s– Hm. The eyes are a little defocused, and he’s a little slow… Yeah, okay, John’s gonna have to guide him through his one - a quick shower to get the rain off him, and he’ll guide David through this little episode. Get him focused on John again.

“Coffee too?” John asks. David swallows.

“Y– Yeah, I can, uh, I can do the… You’re not gonna be long?” Christ, he sounds so  _anxious_. That’s… Okay. That’s hot too, the way David is suddenly so worried about John just being in the next room, yeah, John could definitely get used to that. ‘Course, he’ll need to get Betty on board, but… She’ll be good with it, maybe, if John can phrase it the right way. 

“No,” John says immediately. “No, just a quick shower. That okay?” David hesitates. No, doesn’t hesitate - just takes that long to hear what John has said and  _unpack_  it. “You’re okay - you’re, uh, you’re just  _great_.” He pats David’s hip, squeezing, and David exhales - relaxes, this time. “Good.”

He takes a step away, and he hears David’s breathing hitch. “John?”

“Uh huh?” John asks. He doesn’t turn around as he stands in the doorway to the kitchen, his wet shirt at his side. There’s a moment’s pause. 

“Th– thanks,” David says in a tiny voice, barely more than a whisper, and John feels his eyebrows rise right up. Jesus. Maybe David on a leash isn’t such a bad thing - a  _real_  leash, that’d… That’d be nice. 

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” John says, for the way David quietly exhales, and John only starts off down to the bathroom when he hears David flick the oventop back on. 


End file.
